


The Deal With The Devil

by SisterWine



Category: Cold Case
Genre: 1968, A shot at life, A son's secret, Chicago, Got Connections?, M/M, Old Love Never Stays Buried, Philly Mob, The Decade of Love, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterWine/pseuds/SisterWine
Summary: Disclaimer: I do not own Cold Case or it's characters. This is purely for fictional fun. Any similarities, living or dead, is purely coincidental. My characters are, Steven, Tony, Mister Antonelli and other miscellaneous characters.Summary: A skeleton found from 1968 turns up more questions than answers for the team as they discover his dealing with the mob was more than just an occupational hazard.
Relationships: OCs - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

1968

Music played from a turntable that sat on a brand new record cabinet, in the front room, whilst the grunts and sounds of two men kissing and moaning came from the bedroom, around the corner. Panting and gasping in rhythmic style until a final gasp and moan of pleasure. The older of the two reclined against the headboard of the bed whilst the younger lay beside and draped an arm across the older's man's hairy chest. Lighting a cigarette, he offered it to the younger man as he played with a lock of man's shaggy blond hair. They switched off with the smoke before he shoved the younger aside and slipped out of the queen-sized bed and reached for his pants.

Slipping on his boxers and then his slacks, he stood up and turned around to fasten them before bending over and kissing the younger man, passionately, as he sat up. "That's one hell of a work out, kid. You keep bustin' my balls with those moves, I'll never get my work done." A man of forty-five with slicked back black hair slipped on his shirt and buttoned the sleeves before relenting and letting the younger man of twenty-seven crawl up to him and button the front of the pressed white shirt. 

"Come over more often, I'll make you forget all about your work." Steven smiled and raised up on his knees and kissed the older man, trying to lure him back to bed. Much to his satisfaction, it had worked, until Tony pulled away and reached for his gold watch that lay on the nightstand, next to the bed. He hadn't bothered to pull on his boxers or any kind of clothing as he wan't the older man to come back to bed with him. The covered had been discarded to the other side of the bed.

Tony took one last drag of the cigarette before snuffing it out in the large glass ashtray on the nightstand and then sitting down to put on his socks and brilliantly shined loafers. Arms wrapped around his shoulders and a head leant against his. "I gotta go." He said as he finished slipping on his loafers.

Steven sighed. "I don't want you to."

"Sorry, kid. I have a job to do." Tony patted the clasped hands at his neck and started to stand up. When Steven refused to let go, he reiterated his point. "I'll be late."

"Fine." Steven shrugged and let go, smiling up at him when Tony turned around to kiss him one last time before exiting the bedroom and making his way to the front door. Steven slipped on some jeans and followed Tony around the corner, stopping and leaning against the wall. "If you come back, I'll make you supper?"

Tony threw a smirk over his shoulder as he opened the door and winked his goodbye, closing the door behind him. 

Steven stood there a moment and stared at the door, a pang of guilt hitting his chest. He waited there for a few more minutes before turning to go back into the bedroom when there was a knock at the door. He turned and smiled as he crossed the livingroom and reached for the door. "Decided to come back, huh?" When he opened it, the smile and colour drained from his face as it wasn't his lover that stood on the step. 

A portly Italian man in a very expensive suit stood five-foot-five and in between two tall and icy-facaded men. "You gonna keep me out here, all day?" His voice was thick with New York accent with clever undertones of Italian. Dark sunglasses concealed his cool brown eyes. "You know who I am?"

"Yes sir." He nodded nervously but didn't say the name. His childhood had taught him that. Steven swallowed nervously and opened the door to accept the gentlemen into his apartment. Running a shaky hand through his blond hair, he cleared his throat and closed the door, giving a quick glance up and down the street for witnesses.

****

Midday at a construction site, Lily and Stillman gathered around the giant indent in concrete where, emerging from dusty gray foundation, laying face down was a skull and ribcage of a missing person. Lily crouched down at the skull and took a closer look at the uncovered bones. "It looks like they were struck in the back of the head and fell into the mix. There's a fracture just below the crown. Might have known the doer."

Stillman bent over and examined what was revealed of the wound. "That style is typical of mob hits, back in the day. Might find that's a bullet wound, under the rubble." He paused and straightened before looking around at their surroundings. "This area was built around the middle of '68. There are a few people I can think of who went missing around that time. We'll know more after forensics gets these." 

The scene was scattered with CSUs and uniformed officers trapsing through the site, looking for evidence of other victims or personal effects of the one they had uncovered. Throughout the heavy police presence, only Stillman had noticed an older gentleman standing at the gate to the site and staring at the hole they stood in, with conviction. Their eyes met and just as he turned to step over to the man, the coroner and his assistant caught his attention and when he looked up again, the man was gone.

They had spent the afternoon combing the site for anything that might have belonged to victim as well as filling out reports and statements before rejoining their comrades back at the squadroom. Both Stillman and Rush had issued statements to eager reporters about the find but neither wanted to divulge anymore information to the public than necessary. By that time, the sun had already set and rush hour had started and was getting worse by the minute. 

Continued.


	2. Chapter 2

Stillman sat down in the empty chair across from Lily and went over the files that she had spread over her desk, looking for the right candidate to match the remains found in the foundation. Their only clue they had to go on was a possible Mob hit. He had two files in front of him that he chose to keep at hand, for an unknown reason; a female from Germantown who went missing in late May of 1968 and a 20s-ish male with known connections to the underworld, who went missing in late July. He sighed and stared at the stats and last known photos of the two, familiarising himself with the subtle details of their faces.

Vera made his way over to his desk with the tech from the coroner's office and stopped a few paces away from them. "This is Darla, the new tech that transferred from Chicago, last month. She's been going over the remains and says she found something."

Darla, a short Chinese-American with long black hair that had been pulled back into a thick braid down her back, smiled as she was introduced and then handed her report to Stillman before paraphrasing what was inside. "Victim is male, approximately 25 to 30 years of age who suffered multiple contusions for the body before being shot iin the back of the head with a .38. He was also missing some bone density and tested positive for minute traces of radiation. It's possible he was undergoing some sort of clinical trial before he died but, we can't say for certain, DNA is too degraded for testing. However, we are having a sketch made up and that should be done in an hour."

Thanking her for the information, Stillman discarded the file of the female to Lily's desk and studied the male's. "Anything useful in his possessions?" 

Scotty stood from his desk and came around to hand a folder with photos in it, to Stillman before elaborating what was in it. "He had an old cigarette lighter; a flip top and a gold bracelet with nameplate with the initials of 'TZ'. Think it's the vic's name?"

Stillman studied the photo of the bracelet and then the photo of the lighter, a plain silver lighter with a fliptop and a solitary scratch at the bottom. "Anything else at the scene to identify him?"

"Nope. no wallet, no car keys, nothing." Scotty paused and took a closer look at the photo in Stillman's hands. "Might be something on the lighter, though. That notch at the bottom." He pointed to the small knick in the middle of the bottom of the lighter.

Stillman's brow furrowed as he looked closer at the notch. "There was a mob affiliate who marked his possessions with a notch. He went to prison for murder in '78. Tony Zuccarelli." Stillman tapped the photo of the bracelet and looked up at Scotty, who stood beside him. "TZ."

Lily leant forward and glanced at the photo Stillman held. "But that's not him, in the morgue. His son, maybe? Brother?"

Shaking his head, Stillman clarified on the man he had several run ins with, in the early days of his career. "Zuccarelli wasn't married and had no kids. He was a second man in a mob out of Jersey." He stood and placed the photos on the desk before turning to go back to his office. He had thought of the name of the mob boss but needed to check his files for the whereabouts. "Lil, Scotty, check on the sketch. It should be done by now. As son as it is, circulate it. Someone knew this kid. Then, go home, get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

~~~~~~~~

The sketch had made the evening news and the morning paper, looking for leads or tips on who the man in the foundation was. By mid-afternoon, the phones were ringing every few minutes, mainly crackpots, asking if he was abducted by aliens or if he was kin to Hoffa. The rest of the callers thought he had disappeared at Woodstock with a rock band. 

About 2PM, an older man walked into the squadroom and stopped to look around for Stillman. He was dressed in a navy blue shirt and black slacks with gold chains adorning his left wrist and neck. When he found who he was looking for, he stepped into the room from the hall area and started over to the Lieutenant's office. 

"Hey, uh hi. I'm Detective Rush. Can I help you with something?" Lily approached with caution. Noticing the folded newspaper under his arm, she eyed the man in front of her and waited for him to answer her.

The man stopped and stood there, staring at her. A mix of emotion washed over him as he wasn't sure how or what to say. Finally, a sigh as he held up the paper with the sketch on the front page. "I gotta talk to that man, right there." Raising his other hand and pointing to Stillman, who heard the commotion and now stood at his door. "Now."

Stillman opened his door and caught Lily's attention. "Lil, it's ok. Come on in, Tony." He waved the man over to his office and watched him carefully as the elderly gangster made his way past Lily and now Scotty, who stepped up to the other side of them, and headed for Stillman's office. 

"His name's Steven Daughtry. Came over here from Chicago. His pops was in the Irish Mob, there. They had a fallin' out, Steven moved here." Tony sat in a chair across from the desk that stillman sat on the edge of, and stared up at him. 

Lily stood next to the door and watched the man's expressions as he spoke. "How'd you know him?"

Tony rubbed his bottom lip with a finger as he thought. "He and I met under.... different circumstances."

Lily crossed the room and sat down in a chair adjacent to Tony. "Different how? He wanted to switch mobs? He wanted to move up and his dad wouldn't let him?"

Smirking, Tony shook his head and shifted in his seat. "Nah, you got it wrong. Steven never wanted that life. He was goin' to school, out here. Wanted to be a doctor or chemist or somethin' fancy. His pops didn't like him hangin' around the competition."

"Know what the argument was about?" 

Tony shook his head. "He never said. But whatever his old man said, ate at him. He never gave up, though. Kept tryin' to talk with him."

~~~~~~

8 May 1968

Tony sat in his car and watched the young man standing at the payphone. For mid afternoon, the street was desolate. It was the perfect opportunity to just walk right up, do his business and continue on without anyone noticing what he had done. They'd find the body and think it was drive-by or he could leave a clean one at the scene and make it look like the clearly distraught young man took his own life. Perfect. Suddenly, the young man turned and looked out at the rain that poured down, onto the street. Tony's brow furrowed. He tried to make out what the young man's lips were saying. Unable to do so, he sighed and placed the nickel-plated piece into the center console of his sea-foam green Cadillac. 

Watching the younger man, now visibly shaken from the conversation, Tony saw his chance. He had grown tired of scrubbing countless and nameless numbers for his boss, he wanted to up the stakes for a better thrill. So, when the prey hung up and walked away, Tony made his move. He opened his cardoor, as he had parked across the street from the market, Steven stood in front of, and followed him several yards behind. The rain poured down and the day seemed to grow darker and darker as they walked along the store strip before Steven stopped in front of a hole-in-the-wall diner and turned to go inside. 

Tony stopped just outside and watched through the window at where his prey had sat and ruffled the rain out of his damp golden hair. 

Steven sat at a booth along the wall, to the right of the door, and ordered coffee as the waitress passed by, his back to the door. Thanking her as she placed a cup of coffee down in front of him, he hung his head and scrubbed his face with his hand. 

Tony opened the door and stepped in, making his way over to the lunch countre, in the centre of the room, and sat down two stools away from Steven, eyeing him every now and then. Ordering his own cup of coffee, he removed his pack of cigarettes and took one from it. As he reached for his lighter and flicked it open to light his smoke, he heard a young man's voice call to him. 

"Hey, got a light?" Steven had looked up and over at Tony, holding his own cigarette in his hand and motioning for the man's lighter.

After lighting his own, Tony exhaled the smoke and stood up, walking the three steps over to where Steven sat and flicked the lighter open again, lighting the second cigarette. 

After a few puffs and exhales, Steven sat back and thanked the stranger. 

Tony nodded and smiled. "Don't mention it."

"Probably should quit, huh? They don't really help out, right now." Steven added as Tony still stood there. 

Shrugging, Tony kept his eye on the disheveled young man. "Depends on what you need to get through it."

Steven smirked and looked away before taking another drag and offering the bench across from him, to Tony. "What I need...." He sighed and took a moment to get his emotions under control. "What I need is a miracle, right about now." He looked back to see Tony walking back to grab his cup of coffee before making his way over to sit down across from him.

"What kind of miracle are you looking for?" Tony gave a smooth grin as he sat down.

Steven gave a small smile and took a sip of his coffee, shivering a bit from his wet clothes and cool air from the ceiling fans. "One to take all my troubles away." He swallowed his mouthful of coffee and remembered his manners. "I'm Steve, by the way."

"Tony." They shook hands over the table and ended up sitting there, for a few hours, engrossed in conversation. As much as he wanted to remain a neutral party, he found himself striking up a friendship with the young man. Their conversation lasted long into the night before the waitress noted that it was time to close up. They should have said goodbye at the door but Tony hadn't wanted to end the experiment just yet. "You need a ride home? My car's just down the street. C'mon, I'll drive ya."

Continued.


	3. Chapter 3

University of Philadelphia

"Steven? Yeah, I remember him. I was a TA back then but I also had a few classes with him." Clark Simms, a sixty-five year old man with salt and pepper hair stood next to his classroom door, quietly greeting his class as they entered his room. "He was a good guy. Kinda quiet and complicated but he had a bright future. It's a shame he didn't see it. I always thought there was something more going on that he just wasn't letting anyone know."

Lily looked up from her notepad and smiled. "Like what?"

Clark cleared his throat and nodded to another student making their way into his class. "Like, old man problems. He moved out here to get away from home situations, which I can understand. My home wasn't that great, at the time, either."

Scotty blinked and nodded. "What else do you remember? Anything out of the ordinary, maybe?"

Rubbing his chin as he thought, Clark felt the nudge of an awkward memory come up. "We tried out for the track team, after Spring break. We got our physicals done and everything was fine. About a week later, he was told to see a doctor." He shook his head. "Next time I saw him, he was leaving school."

"After a physical?"

"He was told something he didn't want to hear."

_Clark knocked on the open door to Steven's dorm room and stood in the doorway, watching his friend shove clothes into his duffelbag. "You moving dorms?"_

_Steven shook his head and continued with his chore, not looking at the person speaking to him. "No." The duffel lay on his bed, amidst the piles of folded clothes. The bed itself was turned longways so that it protruded from the far left wall._

_"Transferring back home?" Clark stepped cautiously into the room and grew ever more curious about where his friend and classmate was going._

_Again, Steven shook his head. "Not home. Not welcome there." Clearing a spot at the end of the bed, he motioned for Clark to sit down. "You know that physical, we had?"_

_"Yea."_

_Steven bit his lip and stopped packing. He turned and moved the bag out of the way and sat down next to Clark. "Well, mine came back with an anomaly. Leukemia."_

_Clark's jaw dropped as he felt the wind being knocked out him. "Are you sure?"_

_Nodding, Steven hung his head. "Gave me six months."_

_"So, what are you gonna do? Where you gonna go?" Clark turned and asked, his emotions still in shock from the news. When Steven only shrugged, he gasped. "Steve, go home, man. Your family deserves to hear this. I'm sure they have doctors who can help you." Brown bangs fell into his eyes and he kept feathering them back, out of his face. He had hated to go to the barber shop to get it cut so, he dealt with it and relented because his girlfriend loved his long hair._

_Steven shook his head. "No. My family isn't exactly 'close' when it comes to me."_

_Exasperated from a good friend and a bright student leaving, Clark shook his head and stood up to pace the length of the room in thought. After a few minutes of pacing, he stopped and turned back to Steven, still sitting on the bed. "Come on, man, stay. They're making advancements in medicine every day. We'll think of something. At least, finish the semestre."_

_Steven took a ragged breath and looked up at him. "I can't. My pop yanked my tuition, last week."_

_"He what?! Why?"_

_Again, Steven shook his head in dismay. "It's a long story but, do you remember when you told me your brother was 'different'?"_

_"Yea, so?"_

_Steven groaned inwardly and swallowed, looking for the words to say. "Well, my pop cut my tuition because he didn't like that I was different."_

_Clark scoffed. "You're kidding, right?"_

_Steven shook his head. "There's a lot about my pop that isn't normal, but yea, he went off the deep end." Checking his watch, Steven stood and sighed. "Listen, I'll call ya and let you know where I end up. It was fun, man." Holding out his hand for Clark to shake, he wasn't sure if the other man would acknowledge him, after his admission but, to his surprise, it was accepted and Clark wished him well before leaving the room._

"So, Steven left the school because he was gay?" Scotty looked confused.

"Well, it wasn't so widely accepted back then as it is now and he didn't flaunt it or anything. But, no, he left because of his death sentence. He had money. More than enough to stay in school, regardless of his dad's tantrums. Medical research and breakthroughs for cancer were still in their infancy, back then. It was a death sentence either way." Clark shook his head and nodded shortly to the last student to enter his class.

Lily stopped writing and looked up from her pad. "When was this?"

Clark thought a moment as the bell sounded for class to start. "Uh, mid-to-late April. He called me about two weeks later saying that he found a 'roommate' to stay with. That was the last I heard from him." Smiling politely and placing his hand on the side of the open classroom door, he excused himself. "Excuse me, my class is waiting."

Lily and Scotty nodded and as Clark walked away, they looked at each other with the answer of who the "roommate" was.

~~~~

"You were sent to kill him and you toyed with him, instead." Lily's voice filled with a sternness that she had to keep in check. She stared at him coldly. She wanted him to know she understood how cruel and calculating he was and she wanted him to see that she knew. She didn't like the idea of the mob using people as their own playthings and to see him smirk about it made it that much more harder to bear hearing.

Tony looked away. "Sorry, can't help you. Call it..... professionalism."

Lily's eyes widened with disgust. "Professionalism?! You stalked a guy, invited him to live with you and through smoke and mirrors, Steven ends up dead after getting the worst news of his life. That's some friendship policy the mob has, Tony."

Tony's lips pursed as he looked over at her. "Hey, I loved that kid. I can say that now. Back then, it wasn't something to sing about. And, in my line of work, just saying that, can get you killed." He shook his head. "He didn't deserve what he got. Not from me, not from anyone. I just did my job."

Lily nodded with contempt. "So, how did he get there?"

Again, Tony shook his head. "I don't know. Last time I saw Steven, he was scared of somethin'."

"Your boss, maybe? Perhaps, we should have a chat with him. Let him know all about how you're rolling on your 'job.'" Scotty pushed off the wall of the Interrogation Room and stepped up to the table, where Tony sat.

Tony looked over at Scotty, agitated. "I didn't 'roll' on anybody. And I never hurt Steven. The kid had enough problems. He needed someone to believe in him."

Lily leant over the desk. "You're just a stand up hitman for the mob. Aren't ya?" She kept her voice low, controlling her anger but her eyes spoke volumes at the contempt she had for the 85 year old man. "The site where his remains were found belonged to your boss. Your boss conveniently skipped town right after Steven was murdered and buried under cement. Maybe he didn't like the competition. Steven was taking you away from your 'job' and he had to put a stop to it. Right?"

Flatly, Tony turned and looked over at Lily. "I wouldn't know. I didn't know anything had happened until I got back and found the apartment empty. I figured the cancer finally took him. So, I shoved his stuff in storage and moved on."

"So, he told you he had cancer." Scotty's brow knitted together as he turned the chair around and sat down, leaning against the back of it, which faced him.

Tony shook his head and glanced over at the other detective. "He didn't tell me anything. I knew. Quit smoking, dropped weight like water and hardly ate anything. That kid was bones and skin that day I left." He hung his head as he recalled the last day he saw his lover alive and how he had wished he had gone back and spent more time with him, instead of shuffling off to Boston.

Lily straightened and looked over her shoulder at the glass window that separated them from the observation room. Walking over to open the door and enter the room, she closed it behind her before asking what Stillman thought about the admission.

"Lorenzo Antonelli lives out in Cherry Hill. A twelve-year-old girl playing with her dog, across the street, said she saw him knock on Steven's door just before he and two of his bodyguards entered the apartment. I'll send Scotty and Jeffries to the storage area to see if they come up with anything." Stillman's eyes never left the old man sitting at the table, talking with Scotty.

~~~~~~~~

Stillman and Lily followed the bodyguard into the lavish den, where the older man sat and awaited them with calm aversion. 

"What brings the law to my door?" Antonelli asked as he sipped his tea from a small China cup with small pink roses on it. He sized up as they stood there. Nodding to the empty chair across from him, he watched them as they sat down and awaited their answer. 

"Steven Daughtry. Name ring any bells?" Stillman spoke. His deep voice coming across as a coldness to the mobster.

The old man raised an eyebrow as he sipped his tea. "Should it?" His jet black hair had turned a salt and pepper on the sides and white on top but the bottom of the back was only a lighter black.

Lily sat down in the chair next to Stillman and answered. "You tell us. His remains were found under one of your buildings."

Anotnelli's brow knitted together. "I don't nothing about it. You cops are lying. That kid was alive when we spoke."

Stillman leant forward in curiosity. "So, you did know him."

Setting his cup down on the small side table, to his right, Antonelli leant back in his chair. "Yea, I knew him. Decent young man. Good head on his shoulders."

"Witness saw you talking to him, the day before he went missing. June of '68. Mind if we ask what you two were talking about?" Lily readied her notepad and pen to jot down anything the man said that would possibly help them. She mentally noted his reaction when she mentioned the witness.

The old man turned to look at the fire in the fireplace before looking back again. 

_Steven closed the door and turned around to see the mob boss sit down on the end of the long, yellow sofa. "Mister Anton--" He started to speak but was cut off as the man's hand raised to silence him."_

_"Tony, my boy, just left this place. I hear he's been spending time here. I came to see who he's kept. Thought it was a broad he's had perkin' him up but, here you are, instead." The man shifted and cleared his throat as he sat on the edge of the seat. "Name's Daughtry, right? Your father's Sam Daughtry. I know who you are. What do you want with my Tony?"_

_Steven's jaw dropped and he quickly readjusted it. "I don't want anything from him, sir. He's just a friend."_

_Antonelli nodded, knowingly. "Been lookin' in to you. Sick or somethin." He said it with such purpose that it threw Steven for a minute._

_Steven nodded. "Cancer."_

_"I'm sorry to hear that. I really am. Had a few acquaintances go from it. You tell your pops, yet?" The two groups hadn't been friends or even associates but he empathised with the family._

_Steven swallowed and looked at the floor. "He's currently not talking to me."_

_Antonelli nodded knowingly. "Shame. A parent should never have to lose their kid." He looked up at Steven and took in the frail young man's frame. After a minute, he snapped his fingers and held out his left hand for the bodyguard on that side to hand Steven an envelope with a thick wad of cash inside. Once the young man accepted it, with reluctance, he continued. "What Tony does in his free time is none of my concern. You keep talkin' to your pops and if he still don't listen, you come to me. You hear me? Such a beautiful young boy shouldn't have to die alone."_

_"Yessir. Thank you." Steven stood there, in the middle of the living room and eyed the three men._

_Antonelli snapped his fingers again and sent the second man to rummage around the small, bare kitchenette. When the boss looked over to see the guard shake his head, he turned and nodded over to the first man, who disappeared out of the front door and returned with take aways of pastas and bread and wine, a short while later. "Let's get some meat back on your bones, eh?"_

"We had a good visit. It's a shame he didn't get to finish his life."

Lily stopped writing. "The way he was found made it look like it was a mob hit. Back of the head, face down in cement. You sure he didn't upset you during the visit and you put a hit out on him?"

"Death didn't need any help from me. However, ask his pops. The man's hatred for what the kid was, was eatin' at him long before I even met him. It wasn't my order on the boy. You find whoever did it, you teach him to keep to their own dumpin' grounds. Got it?" Antonelli picked up his cup and sipped the cooled tea. He replaced the cup to the table and watched as Stillman and Lily were escorted back out, via the same bodyguard that showed them in.

Continued.


	4. Chapter 4

The rolling door lifted up and revealed a large storage room chocked full of household items that had looked like they were arranged to match Steven's apartment, minus the walls, of course. Both slipped on their gloves prior to stepping closer to the aged storage room and debated wearing masks as the scent of stale air hit them. Vera felt along the sides for a string that when pulled, turned on the overhead light.

Scotty snapped a photo of the room with his phone, before they entered. "Looks like someone's been living in here." He nodded over to the unmade bed, in the far corner of the room. Also noting the lamp with the extension cord plugged in, next to the bed, Scotty stepped forward to look around it. A box under the bed, caught his eye and he pulled it out as he sat down on the end of the bed to go through it. Placing it on his lap, he opened the old shoe box and sifted through the small assortment of photos and letters, inside. "Just some photos and unopened mail. You find anything?"

Vera had started on the opposite side of the room, where a small, one-drawer desk and records cabinet had been placed. "Not much here. This kid either traveled really light or someone already went through and ousted everything of importance." He opened the doors to the long, white and brown wood cabinet and sifted through the plush collection of old jazz and Sinatra records. On flipping though them, an old and yellowed envelope slipped out from between King Krupa and Coltrane. "Hey, found something." Sliding it out and opening the crispy flap, he let out a whistle that made Scotty get up from sitting on the bed and come look. "That's a lot of hundreds in there."

"Wow. That's a lot of cash, even for the 60s." Scotty glanced into the envelope Vera held open and as his partner reached into his inside jacket pocket for an evidence bag and dumped the contents into it, he knelt down and examined the other side of the records cabinet. 

Vera continued to look around the room and poke at several suspicious items. Opening the top left drawer of the side by side six-drawer dresser, he lifted up several shirts and sweaters that had been tucked in very neatly. "For a mobster's son, he sure lived like he didn't have a dime to his name." He noted several shirts looking worn from use, before age. Towards the back of the drawer, in between the two stacks of tops, he found a camera with film still waiting to be finished. "Hey, maybe this has something on it. Still got film."

Scotty nodded as he reached into the cabinet, between records and removed and held up an old and rusted revolver. "Looks like both of us struck gold."

~~~~~~~~~

Scotty carried the file box containing their findings in the storage unit and placed it down on his desk whilst the others, including Lily and Stillman gathered around to see what was inside. "Someone was definitely living in that storage. Bed was set up and looked like someone had slept in it, electricity and even a small TV and radio set up."

"Maybe Tony was thinking Steven would miraculously come back and take up living in a storage room." Lily chided but remained focused on the evidence in the box. 

Stillman stepped closer and picked up the camera that was neatly placed on top of the other items, in an evidence bag. "Tony's been out for four months. Listed his daughter's residence as his, for parole purposes. He might spend a few nights there, wallowing in memories." Handing the camera to Jefferies and instructing him to get the film developed before checking for anything relating to the case, he then caught sight of the weapon, Scotty had also placed in a bag and tucked into the box. Holding the rusted weapon up to look at better, he sighed and handed it off to Vera for forensics, knowing Scotty would seize any moment to flirt with the cute Asian tech.

Reaching in and removing a record he had thought interesting, Vera held it up for the group to see. "He had tons of jazz records but, this one didn't seem to fit; Irish Folk Music."

"Meaning he was either homesick or someone paid him a visit, every now and then." Lily looked up from sorting through the letters and photos in the shoe box. 

Holding a yellowed letter and reading it, Stillman paused to look up at the record Vera held and nodded to it. "According to these letters and from what Tony said, Steven had two brothers, one older and one younger. The older one died in Nam but the younger one wrote some pretty scathing letters to Steven, blaming him for the shake up in the family. Scotty, you and Vera take the brother, Daniel, and watch your step. He's the new head of his father's gang, in Chicago. Lil, let's you and me take a ride to Jersey City. Sam Daughtry is a resident of a retirement home there. Miller, you and Jeffries stay with the evidence and jog Tony's memory. Maybe he's holding back what he says he packed up and took to storage after Steven died."

~~~~~~~~

Will Jeffries sat down in his chair with a groan of pain. Though, still recovering from being shot, he had much rather wanted to be the one going through evidence than tag-teaming a mob boss or his elder, in someone's place. He sighed and picked up a stack of bundled, unopened and returned letters and untied the string that held them together. 

Miller sat across from him and sifted through a stack of old photos. She huffed that she had wanted to go with Vera and Scotty and see the mob life and get into the case like they did. She grumbled to herself and occasionally glanced over at Jeffries. "Doesn't this bother you? Sitting here, instead of getting our hands dirty."

Looking up from the letters and leaning forward whilst shifting positions in his chair, Jeffries gave a small smile. "I never met Antonelli but, in my youth, I heard a lot about him. Not the kind of guy you want to have knowing who you are. The same with Sam Daughtry. Both men were brutal players in the 60s and 70s. There was a headline, I read, in 1974, that mentioned Daughtry having a breakdown after Steven went missing. He came all the way to Philly to search for him. Saw his car all over the bad neighbourhoods, dragging hoods off their corners and leaving them to turn up in dumpsters, a mile from where they worked. Had a run in with his youngest son, in 1980." Jeffries shook his head as he recalled the day in the convenience store parking lot. "The Irish have mean tempers and even meaner trigger fingers." He shook his head again and sat back. "No thank you. I don't need anymore holes in me on account of some hood playing crime lord."

Sighing and shrugging, Kat Miller went back to looking at the photos from the box. "Nothing here but old family photos and some of he and Tony. Was kinda cute, though." She looked up as an officer walked towards them with a thick manila envelope. Standing up, she accepted the package and read the label. "Oh, good. More photos. These are from the camera." Opening the package and removing the stack of clouded photos, she flipped through them and stopped mid-way into the stack. "Did you get a good look at the car Daughtry had?"

"A '69 black towncar. Why?" Jeffries looked up at her as she stood next to the desk.

Pulling another photo from the top of the stack, she handed them both to Will. "I'm guessing the top half was from his days at UofP. So, I'm guessing that's Steven and his friend, Clark, on the steps of the Academic building. The parking lot was across a patch of grass. This photo was taken by someone standing next to a black towncar. "She pointed to the lower right hand corner of the first photo. "I'm thinking whoever took this photo knew Clark and Steven were a little bit more than just friends." She tapped the corner of the second photo, which showed Steven and Clark in Steven's room, lounging together on the bed. The second photo had obviously been taken from a crack in the curtain of the window.

Will's brow furrowed. "Maybe we should have another chat with Tony. Maybe he knows where the camera came from." He stared at the two photos, both blotted with yellows and reds, showing their age but the digital lab he took the camera and roll to had done better than simply taking it to a corner store to be developed. He casually dropped them on the desk and stood up, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair. 

Kat sighed and set the package and the stack of photos down beside them. Her eye had caught sight of the bottom right corner of the first photo and she picked it up to look closer. "Wait. There's an image in the mirror of the car." She pointed to it as Will turned to look at it whilst slipping his arm into a sleeve. 

The small round mirror on the door had caught a partial reflection of someone sitting in the back passenger seat behind the driver. "That's not Antonelli. Looks like Tony was playing both sides, back then."

Continued.


	5. Chapter 5

Chicago, IL

"So, what can I do for the lawmen of Philadelphia?" The middle-aged man in a black Armani suit sat behind the desk in his lavish den of his well-guarded mansion. He had fancied himself after a gangster of the 1920s and did his best to repute himself amongst mob greats, such as O'Bannon and Capone. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back and although, he wore glasses around the house, he preferred contact lenses when receiving guests.

Scotty and Vera sat down in the highbacked chairs, across from the man and took a second to size the mobster up. "New evidence came to light about your brother."

Daniel Daughtry laughed skeptically. "Frankie? He died in Viet Nam. What evidence could possibly be new?" He sat back and did his best to act casual. Daniel had never forgiven Frankie for leaving his family to fight a war the family wasn't involved in. He had always looked up to his oldest brother and was crushed when Frankie answered the draft summons. 

Scotty shifted in his seat and stared back at the man with a stern look. "Your brother, Steven."

Daniel stopped laughing and shook his head, looking away from them. "We don't talk about that name, here." 

Scotty pushed on. "He was found in the foundation of a building in midtown; face down and shot in the back of the head, mob style. You're saying he's just a 'write-off'? You do realise he is your blood family, right?" He did his best to contain his anger at the brother's lack of concern for Steven's disappearance and death.

"I'm saying, Steven wasn't family. Pop found out about his dirty secret and that creep was out on his ear and I'd appreciate it if you'd take the advice." Daniel's tone hardened.

Vera looked at him from under his eyebrows. He ignored the comment and moved on. "A source mentioned he wanted to come home, a week before he died. Any idea what that was about?"

Daniel scoffed. "Probably to ask my mother makeup tips. How the hell should I know?"

Nodding and looking a bit skeptical at the man's answer, Vera took a breath. "Is your mother around? Can she corroborate that?"

Laughing inwardly, Daniel smirked and cast an amused look over at the plump detective. "In need of cooking tips, detective?" He laughed again before straightening his tone and answering the question. "That bastard's disappearance was too much for her and she died after a stroke, in '83." He glanced at his mother's picture on the mantle of the fireplace, over Vera's left shoulder.

Scotty cleared his throat. "We found some letters you wrote to Steven, in his possessions. Did you see or talk to him, while he was here?" He could see the fronted confusion in the man's expression but also the surprise and horror that Steven had kept the hurtful letters that his little brother had scathingly sent to him.

"No." Daniel said, flatly.

Nodding, Scotty reiterated. "You sounded pretty spiteful in those letters. Was it because he was gay or because he didn't think being a high-priced thug was acceptable?"

Ire rose in Daniel's face as he slammed his hands on the desk and stood up, screaming for them to "get out." He glared at Scotty and breathed heavily as he motioned for his body guards to open the door they guarded and escort the two cops out of his home.

"If you think of anything, here's my card." Leaving the card on the desk and turning to motion to Vera that they had overstayed their welcome, he looked back to a fuming gangster, still staring at them and waiting for them to leave. Scotty glanced back to see the two young and well armed men following them to the front door and down to the end of the walkway, where their rental car had been parked and noted the kitchen maid staring at them from the veranda, on the side of the massive white brick mansion. She was an older woman who wore a traditional black dress with white apron. Scotty felt the weight of her stare continue as they pulled away from the house and out to the street.

~~~~~~~~

New Hearth Retirement Home  
Jersey City, NJ

Stillman stepped forward with caution as they approached the old man, staring out the window of the Day Room. "Mister Daughtry, I'm John Stillman of Philadelphia Homicide. This is Detective Rush. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of your son, Steven. Do you feel up to it?" He approached slowly to the man with his back to them and stopped a foot away from him. "Mister Daughtry?"

"I haven't heard that name in forty years." The old man paled at the name of his dead son. "Go away. I have nothing for you." Samuel Daughtry didn't turn around or make any effort to look at the two visitors. The majority of his days were now spent sitting in his wheelchair, staring out at the green grounds of the home. 

Lily stepped forward and came around to face the man in the chair before she spoke. "Steven's remains were found in the foundation of a building in Midtown. Don't you want to know who killed your son?" She glanced over at Stillman, who silently shook his head, as if telling her not to show the man the photo of the scene, taken after the remains were found.

The nurse stepped forward and quietly explained to Stillman that Sam Daughtry had Alzheimer's and as the years had progressed, since he had joined them, so had his illness. She had also explained that his sleep patterns had been haunting as of late and he insisted on speaking to a "Steve" or "Stevie", in his waking hours. "He took to walking the halls, last night, and kept staring at the floor, asking 'where is he?' but when we tried to get him back to bed and ask who he was talking about, he clammed up and said he didn't remember. He's been lucid today but can get very hostile, if upset." She eyed the man in the chair with his back to her and then smiled back to Stillman before tending to another patient nearby.

Stillman moved to the other side of the man and grabbed a chair, placing it next to Daughtry and sat down to talk softly to him. "Mister Daughtry, we came to help you find Steven. You've been looking for him. Correct?" He leant forward and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair he sat in. He studied the man's expression as Daughtry simply stared out the window.

"Did something happen to Steven?" Lily asked. 

Daughtry shook his head. "He comes by everyday, to see me but today, he didn't come. He and Francis are running late. I told them to take care of that car but, boys won't listen." 

Lily's brow furrowed. "Francis? Your other son, Francis?"

With a sharp inhale, Sam Daughtry paused and turned to look up at the woman standing next to him. The expression on his face, unreadable. "What are you talking about? My son's been dead 20 years. He died in that damn war! What do you want with him?"

"Frank died 40 years ago, Mister Daughtry. It's 2009, now." Stillman cleared his throat. "We've come to ask you about Steven, sir. Do you know what happened to him? He went missing June of '68." Reachign into his inside jacket pocket, he removed the photo Miller had handed him and explained to him about the face in the small round mirror of the car. "This is Steven, in the background, right? Do you know who took this photo, Sam?" He pointed to the small figure on the steps of the university but looked at the older man, gauging his temper as the man stared at the photo of his dead son. "This was taken in May of that year. Who is sitting in the backseat? Do you know?"

The older man stared at he photo and ran his fingers over Steven's small face. "My boy, Danny, took this. I went to see him but he was with a boy. So, I told him I wouldn't pay for him to mess around with other boys. Not on my dime."

Stillman's brow furrowed. "You were there when this was taken? That's you in the backseat?"

"Yea, that's me. Why? What has Stevie done, now?"

Lily bit her tongue and stepped forward, squatting down to look at the man, face to face. "Mister Daughtry, your son, Steven, had something happen to him. He died in 1968. My Lieutenant and I are here to ask you if you know anything about it?"

Sam looked up at her and stared at her with confusion. "My Stevie... dead?"

"Yes sir."

"What happened to him?" The older man's jaw dropped as she nodded.

Lily shifted. "That's what we're trying to find out. Do you remember seeing him that summer?"

Sam shook his head and lowered his gaze. "He and Danny were having a fight." Raising a hand to rub his forehead, he started mumbling incoherently before the nurse came over and informed them that it was time for his medication. 

Lily stood and watched the nurse wheel Sam Daughtry away. "Well, that worked out. Now what do we do? He doesn't even know Steven's dead." She said as Stillman stood and turned to watch the retreating man in the wheelchair.

"Not quite. He knew who took the photo and remembers sitting in the backseat. I think the rest is locked in there, somewhere, and his mind is trying to get it out. That's why he goes for walks in the middle of the night and looks for Steven." Stillman sighed. "We should try another angle. Let's see how Miller and Will turned out."

~~~~~~~~~

Miller sat down across from Tony and placed an evidence bag with the old-style camera in it, on the table. "We went to the storage where you put Steven's stuff and found this, mixed in with the shirts in the dresser. Ring any bells?"

Tony eyed the camera but shook his head. "Not mine. What are you guys tryin' to pull, huh? You think that because I slept with the guy that I offed him?! I was outta the state when it happened." He sat back in the chair and looked up at the opening door to find Will enter and close the door behind him. 

"Did you know that Steven went to see his father, before he died?" Jeffries sat down in the chair next to Miller and asked calmly.

Tony took a deep breath and shifted as he looked over at the other detective. "Yea, I knew. I also knew it was a long and painful night for him. His old man called him the worst names you could call a son. But, that didn't stop Steve from tryin' to be civil and get his pops' attention. His pops wouldn't hear none of it and that brat of his turned his fists on him. I had to pull him away before he broke somethin'."

Jeffries nodded. "You went with him to Chicago?"

Tony's brow furrowed. "He didn't go to Chicago. His old man and that bum of a brother came out here."

"They came here?" Miller wasn't sure she heard right.

Nodding, Tony pointed to the camera in the bag and snarled. "I caught that little punk takin pictures of Steven; spying on his own brother. I ripped the camera from him and taught him a lesson." He smirked, proud of himself that he stood up for someone he wouldn't actually meet for another few weeks.

Jeffries shifted, uncomfortably. "How long have you been following Steven?"

"A couple of months." Tony shrugged.

"Months." Jeffries repeated.

Tony nodded again. "Yea, but what's on that roll is completely different than what's in that camera. A lot of snaps of Steven hangin' around the track or swimming in the pool or smokin' under the bleachers. That sort. That was the real Steven." He pointed to the camera again. "That, was nothing but one-sided cutouts of who they thought he was. So, I extended the view for awhile."

Continued.


End file.
